


be here waiting,  hoping, praying this light will guide you home

by Authors_Restraint



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst angst angst and more angst, As is Ned, But also not, Canon Compliant, Cat & Robb are brought back by the Gods, F/M, Fashion symbolism? What's that? Can i eat it?, I wrote this for myself but you guys can read it too, Jon and Sansa don't know how to feel about it, PLEASE HEED THE ANGST WARNING, Political Jon Snow, Resurrection, Symbolism at the cost of style? Yeah fuck that shit, To be forewarned is to be forearmed, accountability, also dark!jon but just a bit, i can have sansa in beautiful girly dresses bc i want to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2020-12-28 16:37:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21139844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authors_Restraint/pseuds/Authors_Restraint
Summary: Ned, Cat & Robb wake up in 304 AC to a Westeros changed and a North once again under Stark rule.Jon and Sansa deal with the fallout.





	1. #Sansa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [israfel00](https://archiveofourown.org/users/israfel00/gifts), [Alzerak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alzerak/gifts), [reader_consumed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reader_consumed/gifts).

> Hello! It's so good to be back, guys! I swear, I missed posted fic like you wouldn't fucking believe. 
> 
> I dont want to say too much about this fic. This has been in my notebook for so long and I decided to post it. I don't know if I'll continue it. Probably will but not gonna lie, really enjoyed writing this so I hope you enjoy reading it!

"You don't have to leave," Sansa says from the doorway.

Jon stops then and turns around to face her. His bag lays half-packed on his made bed and she glances at it as she slowly steps into his room.

"I don't?"

"No, you don't. You could . . . You _ should _ stay." She wrings her fingers together nervously.

"Sansa, we both know that there's no place for me here. Your parents are back, _ Robb _is back. He's the king again, remember? I'm just . . ."

_ A bastard. _

The words hang in the air. Sansa doesn't know what to say that can convince him. Jon's always grown up knowing that he was different from them and her mother had always been the one to remind him, _ and them _ (and it wasn't just her to do that, it was everyone), of it.

Having Catelyn Stark back . . .

When her mother learned that Jon had been crowned King in the North and that he'd been staying in Winterfell again, _ living _ in Winterfell again and sitting at the Head Table, a coldness had taken over her features and even Sansa could have felt the near hatred, betrayal and bitterness emanating off of her. Jon abdicating to Robb hadn't changed what Sansa imagined was her mother's greatest fear being realized. 

Even if it'd only been for a short time.

As far as Catelyn Stark was concerned, Jon had usurped her children's throne, and that their bannermen had insulted House Stark by electing the bastard son over the true born daughter.

Sansa can't say that she blames Jon for wanting to leave, and she knows that her wanting him to stay is mostly for her sake.

She needs him here.

"I'm sorry," she says softly.

"For what? None of this is your fault."

Sansa says nothing. She doesn't even know what _ to _say. How can she ask him to stay anyway? It wouldn't be right.

Jon would have to sit at the back of the hall again and keep his head down (she can't even _ fathom _ such a thing anymore, not when she's seen the kind of power, respect and allure his quiet presence commands). He would have to sit by and watch as Robb once again took control.

Sansa loves her brother but she'd gotten used to having Jon as her king. He's good at it. _ Very _ good at it.

Also, if Robb is king, and her parents are reinstated as Lord and Lady of Winterfell, what does that make her?

What is her position?

"I know that but," her words and on a sigh. "It's just . . . I'm going to miss you."

Jon's eyebrows raise and his lips part in what Sansa realizes is surprise. As if he hadn't been expecting her to say such things. As if he hadn't even entertained the mere thought that she would miss him.

It . . . It hurts.

After everything they've been through together, she thinks that by now he's realized how much he means to her.

"I'm . . . I'm going to miss you too, Sansa."

Sansa bites her lip and advances towards him shyly, her fingers continuing to wring nervously. Jon stares at her, thick eyelashes fanning his high cheeks as he blinks. He sighs softly and folds her into his arms.

Sansa closes her eyes and buries her face in his neck. Her lip quivers and her throat feels thick with sadness. She really _ is _ going to miss him. He's the only man she trusts right now. The only man she trusts _ completely _anymore. 

Father and Robb are back and she's so incredibly _ happy _for that but the old resentment that she'd buried because of guilt has slowly begun to resurface. And now with Jon about to leave, most likely for good . . .

Sansa will be alone again.

She tightens her arms around his neck, and his tighten around her waist and back. One hand rises to stroke her hair and the soothing action makes her sigh.

The moment is over all too soon though.

"Where will you go?"

The last time she'd asked that question, he'd answered without hesitation, _ 'Where will _ we _ go?' _

She can see the remembrance and pain in his eyes. Pain because unlike before, she's not coming with him.

"South."

Sansa's heart begins to race. "South?" she curses the croak in her voice. But she can't help it. She _ can't _.

He's going _ South _.

South where Father had (supposedly) lost his head. South where Mother and Robb had (supposedly) died. South where their uncle, grandfather and aunt all lost their lives.

"I have to." 

He pulls away from her and removes two missives from his undershirt. She graciously averts her eyes at the flash of pale skin and dark hair.

Jon gives the small scrolls to her wordlessly. Sansa reads them once, twice, three times before looking at him. 

"Dragons," she says flatly.

"And dragonglass, a Dothraki khalasar and a legion of Unsullied. That's more fighting men than the entire Northern armies, and Vale forces combined."

"_ Dragons _, Jon," she almost cries, her voice pitched high.

"Dragons who breathe fire. Fire which kills wights, Sansa. And we _ need _ that dragonglass. We need to mine it and turn it into weapons."

In the better part of her, the part of her that's not hyperventilating because he's oh so incredibly _ serious _, she marvels at the fact that even though he's abdicated, he's still thinking like a king. He's still organizing the defense of the realm even though, by all rights, that responsibility should fall to Robb.

"But, but-" seven _ hells _the words won't come out. She already knows that it's no use. He's already made up his mind.

He's going to Dragonstone to meet with the Dragon Queen. A queen who doesn't know that her soon to be guest is no longer a king.

Seven _ hells _.

"Jon. _ Jon _," she tugs on his arm almost childishly, "she still thinks you're a king. What are you going to do when-"

"Let her still think that. She needs not know of Robb, or Father. Or your mother."

_ Treason. _

He speaks of treason.

A treason he may yet again get killed for. A treason she may be punished for because Sansa already knows that she is going to help him. It is a brilliant plan. 

And an extremely dangerous one.

The Targaryen will require fealty. This she already knows. But it is a fealty Jon is no longer in the position to give. (He wouldn't have been in such a position anyway if he'd remained king).

Gods, he's intelligent. Where did he learn that bit of subterfuge she wonders? Mayhap during his time with the wild-_ Free Folk. _

Then she wonders if this had been his plan all along. If as soon as he'd seen Robb again, he'd known that he'd relinquish his crown even when Sansa had seen how much - though he'd tried his best to hide it - he'd liked being king. 

"This is madness."

"It is. But I have to think about the fate of the world before I do myself."

Sansa puts her hands on his shoulders and and looks at the patterns on his doublet. "What do you need me to do?"

He stiffens. "What?"

"You can't honestly believe that you can fool her forever? What happens when she agrees, marches North and realizes that you lied to her all this time? She'll burn us all. Face it, Jon. You need me."

His eyes are blank for a few moments and then he nods. "Alright."

Sansa smiles. "Good." Her fingers curl into the hard planes of his shoulders. 

"Does this mean you're coming back?" She tries to keep the happiness out of her voice.

Jon sighs. "Aye, I'll be back. For the war and when it's over, and if I survive . . ."

"You'll leave again." Sansa tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice but she can't help it. 

"Yes."

"Will . . . Will I . . . Will _ we _ ever see you again?" She whispers.

"I don't know. Maybe. If the Gods will it, perhaps."

Sansa wants to curse him and say that The Gods, the old and new, have never done anything for them but that's not true, is it?

The Gods brought Jon back - she refuses to give credence to the Red Woman's red god - and they brought her mother, father and brother back.

Sansa swallows then steps back from him. He's going to leave and even when he comes back, there's no guarantee he'll survive this war. And if he does, he's just going to leave again.

Maybe it's for the best. She was already beginning to get attached to him. Stupid girl, she is. Putting her trust in yet another man. Doesn't she know by now they all leave. 

Sansa _ knows _ that she's being irrational and unfair because Jon's reason for leaving is truthfully incredibly sound. He's a man grown now and what grown man, nay what grown _ person _, wants to stay in a place where they aren't wanted?

_ Robb wants him here. Father wants him here. _ I _ want him here. _

Still, Jon shouldn't have to stay out of some sense of obligation to their family. He _ should _ stay, she wants him too, but he's already made it clear he'd much prefer to live out the rest of his days elsewhere.

And he deserves to make that choice for himself, doesn't he? He deserves a little bit of peace and quiet when this is all over. Dare she say happiness. She wishes him nothing but happiness. 

He's earned it.

Mayhaps he'll even find himself a wife and start his own family. 

The thought of that causes a lump in her throat so she forcefully pushes it down.

"I'll make sure that everything is well prepared for when you return, my lord."

Jon frowns but that expression lasts for but a moment before his face becomes a mask once again. "Thank you, my lady."

She gives a quick curtsey then she's out the door.

* * *

Mother hides her satisfaction well but Sansa knows that she's incredibly pleased when she learns that Jon will be leaving Winterfell. It is that satisfaction, and the lightning quick vulnerability within Jon's eyes when he recognizes it, that tells Sansa immediately that she can't let their family in on the plan right now.

It'll be her and Jon's secret.

A part of her is inappropriately pleased by that.

Father and Robb are a different story, however.

Robb tries all sorts of ways to get his brother to stay. Even brings up the coming war. Jon's answer is clear enough so that he doesn't ask more, but vague enough so that he doesn't have to specify.

"The North needs men, Your Grace."

Robb's frown is severe and he looks almost hurt when Jon calls him by his title, and not his name.

"You're the King. You can't leave your people."

A muscle in her brother's jaw ticks. He always looks so _ angry _ now. Where Jon always looks like he's steeped deep in a melancholy that only he himself can understand, Robb looks as if one wrong word from _ anyone _ and he'll pounce.

It's an aftereffect from returning from the dead, Sansa likes to think, but she doesn't think that she knows near enough to have much of an opinion on the matter.

"And if I command you to stay as your king?"

Sansa stiffens and looks between Jon and Robb. 

"Then you will take my head for defying you then suffer the consequences of facing a war with limited men against an unlimited army." Jon's voice is flat and matter-of-fact, and his expression affects nothing. 

Sansa understands Robb's apprehension. She does. She doesn't want Jon to leave either, but their half-brother has the superior knowledge on their foe, and he's shown that he's willing to risk everything, even his own life (gods, she can barely even _ fathom _ such a thought), to ensure their survival.

"Yes. Yes, I imagine that I would," Robb says softly.

The corner of Jon's lips tug up into a half-smile. There is a tension between them. It's no secret to Sansa that Jon's and Robb's relationship is strained. She doesn't know if it's because of Robb coming back to see his brother in his position (Sansa imagines how strange it must have been for him to see that), or all of the changes at Winterfell.

Still, she'd thought that Robb experiencing the same thing that Jon had would've brought them closer. It did for her and Theon. But it seems that Robb's resurrection has only drawn a wedge between two men who were once joined at the hip.

"So I assume you're coming back, then?" Robb postulates. It's not as much of a question as he tries to make it sound.

"For the war? Yes, Your Grace. I am."

"How many times do you think I'll have to tell you to stop calling me Your Grace before it sticks, I wager?"

"One more time I'm sure, Your Grace," Jon replies with a raised eyebrow.

Sansa lifts a hand to her mouth to hide her smile and even Father looks amused. 

Robb sighs then rolls his eyes. He crosses over to where Jon is standing and places a hand on the back of his neck. Jon looks him up and down warily. 

"You take care of yourself, yeah? Gonna be careful, you are. Right?"

Jon purses his lips but nods. Robb closes his eyes and brings Jon's forehead to lay against his, cupping the back of his dark head.

Sansa swallows and looks away. If she's going to miss him, she can only imagine how Robb is going to feel. He's always been much closer to him than she'd ever been.

_ He's just gotten his brother back and Jon's about to leave. _

She glances at Catelyn and her mother's expression is unreadable.

"Hey, who knows," Robb laughs, hand still braced on Jon's neck, "maybe you'll come back with some pretty wife so that I can tease you all about it!"

Sansa's fingers curl into her skirts and once again, she has to ask herself why the thought of Jon marrying someone bothers her so much.

"Not bloody likely," Jon drawls. Robb chuckles and butts his forehead to Jon's again. "How long are you to be gone for?"

Jon blinks and Sansa realizes that she's holding her breath for his answer as well. He meets her eyes briefly before looking back at Robb.

"As long as it takes, Your Grace."

"Hmm," Robb sighs. "Very well. You come back, you hear me? Do what you have to do, then come back."

Jon purses his lips but nods. 

"Good." Robb tugs on Jon's curls then kisses his forehead.

It's such a show of tenderness and vulnerability between them and one Sansa can't recall ever bearing witness to.

It's not unlike that moment not so long ago of her and Jon on the battlements, that moment she couldn't keep the love and affection for her half-brother out of her eyes because they were _ home _ and _ safe _ and she was so _ happy _ and maybe this moment she's witnessing now is very much unlike that moment she's thinking of.

It squeezes her heart and makes her sad for her brother. He doesn't know that Jon is planning on leaving when this is all over. He doesn't know that his best friend in the whole world is embarking on an extremely dangerous mission and that there's a high chance that he won't return. Sansa wants to curse Jon for burdening her with this knowledge but it's not a burden, is it?

It's _ trust _.

Jon steps back from Robb and that's when Father moves. He pulls his son into his arms and hugs him tight. Sansa can feel the tension emanating off her mother and tries to imagine how much the sight before them pains her. It's so confusing, her thoughts on this extremely complicated situation.

"We'll talk when you get back, boy."

"Of course, Lord Stark." 

Sansa can tell that Father's not pleased at the honorific. Jon steps back, bows at his father and brother both, and just as he's about to leave the solar, Sansa moves.

"Wait."

Before he can react, she's in arms. Hers go 'round his neck and she buries her face in the junction between his neck and shoulder. His slowly wind around her back and waist, and by how wary his touch is, she knows that it's due to the presence of their family.

But Sansa doesn't want to think about them right now.

_ Gods, if you can hear me, please keep him safe. Keep him safe and bring him back to me. _

Their embrace doesn't last long and in the moment where he might've kissed her forehead - she mourns that loss immensely - he just gives her a faint smile.

He doesn't linger after that. Sansa watches with her hands clasped as he leaves the solar.

Later, she, Father and Robb stand on the wooden balcony and watch Jon mount his horse, looking so kingly and handsome that it _ hurts _.

He turns around to look at them and give a wave. A wave they all return, and then they watch as he rides out the gates with Ser Davos at his back, and a small contingent of men in Stark armour.

Even as his form disappears, and Father and Robb have left to see to their duties, Sansa remains.  
  



	2. #Catelyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is a short one but I had to get it out bc I want to really get into it so this is kind of a filler I feel like? Idk, I deadass wrote this shit just now and off the top of my head so apologies in advance for any errors.
> 
> Enjoy guys!

With the bastard gone, some of her near constant emotional confusion lessens. It's cruel of her to think - the boy (_not a boy_ _any longer_) has never done anything to her, save for exist - but the truth oftentimes always is.

Robb and Ned are upset at his departure, as is Sansa - though she tries not to dwell on that too much - but evidently life must go on.

And it does.

Robb takes his half-brother's foreboding words about the threat Beyond The Wall very seriously and thus, continues the training of the young folk that Jon had installed.

Cat thinks it's all a bit too much for a threat that she doesn't quite believe in but she says nothing.

Catelyn says very little these days. 

For instance, when she'd returned to her home to see that boy, that interloping _bastard_, sitting in her husband's chair, wearing her son's non-existent crown and dining with her precious daughter, she'd said nothing.

But she hadn't needed too. 

Jon, smart boy that he is, knew his place and not too long after their reappearance was revealed to the Northern Lords, and she and her Ned were reinstated to their previous positions, did he step up to Robb and return to the crown to its rightful owner.

Cat had said nothing then too. 

His contrition did not make up for it. She knows that she's being somewhat irrational, and she knows that her bias against her husband's son has more than a little to do with it, but no one knows or understands the way it had felt to see her fears realized.

Jon Snow, the boy who wasn't one of them but was, worked his way up to the top and became King in the North.

There's a sort of beauty and romance about such a tale, a beauty Cat could've appreciated had he been someone else entirely and not at all directly related to her husband's House.

She can see the appeal of such a tale to these men. These men who value honor and humble beginnings above all else. Jon, despite being raised like a true born, is still very much a bastard and the Lords had _admired_ him for it.

That scares her.

The boy, even after giving up the crown - returning it, she corrects herself for it had never belonged to him in the first place - is a threat to Robb's rule. A threat she can't weed out because he is her son's beloved brother and woe to anyone that dare suggest Robb send him away.

Catelyn wishes he would see reason. He doesn't hear the whispers that she does. He doesn't hear of how some of the men still very much prefer his brother. How they consider Jon to have the better head for politics.

But again, Catelyn says nothing. 

These days, she simply moves around the castle tending to her duties but inside she feels hollow. If she listens closely enough, she's certain she can still hear her sweet Rickon's shrieks, hear Bran's soft laughs and Arya's indignant shouts.

All her sweet young babes, two of them out there somewhere and she has no way of knowing what, or if they're-

_Seven grant me strength_.

Rickon is dead, that much she'd learnt when she returned. She'd seen it in Sansa's and Jon's faces. His statue is in the crypt and she's tried to make a habit of visiting him at any chance she gets but it's so hard to look at that face and not want to scream. 

And the dark, bitter part of her, that part of her that's been growing darker and blacker still since she'd drawn breath again into her dead lungs, blames the bastard for it. 

She's gotten bits and pieces of the Battle for Winterfell from Jon and Sansa themselves, and more from servants, and maidens and castle guards, even from some of the men who'd fought with Jon on the battlefield.

The monster who'd degraded the sanctity of marriage with her daughter had lured Jon into a trap by using Rickon as bait. As soon as he'd seen his brother, he'd jumped on a horse and taken off after him. These actions, Catelyn cannot fault too much because she _knows_ that if it were her, no force in all of the Seven Kingdoms could have stopped her.

But she also knows of the argument Jon and Sansa had the night before. An argument where she'd warned him of the trap he was being lured into. 

Of course neither of them could've known what Ramsay was going to do but still. 

It rankles even more so knowing that even after saving his life and the lives of their soldiers by bringing in the Knights of the Vale, their bannermen had still chosen the _bastard_ over her trueborn daughter.

Suffice to say, Catelyn is glad that he's gone. Indefinite time as it may be, for the while, she no longer has to deal with his presence.

* * *

Jon being gone however, brings with it a new range of problems. 

The wildlings who've remained within Winterfell- she still cannot wrap her head around the fact that these raiders are staying within her home - are refusing to liaise with Robb.

Cat wants to curse them for their insolence.

They're staying in their home, in her home, and yet they're-

_Seven. Grant. Me. Strength._

"Amma, is there a problem?"

Sansa asks softly, quietly entering the Great Hall. Cat watches as the wildlings' attention shift to that of her daughter, ignoring Robb completely.

"Your men are refusing to share the grain we agreed to."

Sansa glances at Robb, as she comes to stand near the Head Table. 

"I see."

"You see. All you kneelers ever do is _see_. We didn' come 'ere to beggin' f'r scraps like some sort of dog. King Crow promised we'd be treated equal but seems to me like he's the only one keen on keeping his fucking word."

Cat sucks in a breath and grits her teeth. A muscle ticks in Robb's jaw. 

Sansa however, inclined her head respectfully. "I understand your frustration, Amma, I do. The Free Folk have done so much for us and you helped us take our home back when there was absolutely no reason for you to help us."

"We didn't do it for you," another woman cuts in.

"I know that," Sansa says quietly. "Even so, we'll have the matter dealt with and sorted out. You'll have your grain. Just because winter is here, it doesn't give our men grounds to act selfish."

Amma purses her lips. "Very well, wolf lady."

When they depart the Great Hall, Robb whirls on his sister.

"What the _hell_ was that?"

"You weren't making any progress with them."

"I could've handled that Sansa. The wildlings-"

"_The Free Folk_ don't have any kings or queens, or lords or ladies. Every man and woman is in equal standing. Pulling rank with them was never going to work."

"This is my home, _my_ kingdom. There are rules here."

Sansa stills. Her face shifts and Catelyn watches as no expression filters onto her daughter's face.

"Forgive me, Your Grace. I forgot myself. It won't happen again."

Robb's eyebrows furrow in confusion and before he can say anything more, Sansa courtesies then is out the door.

Cat can't shake the very wrong feeling that settles within her at seeing such a blankness on Sansa's face.


	3. #Ned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hi guys. Happy New Year! I had a bit of a struggle with this one bc I changed the pov three times before I decided I was going to do Ned. I'm especially excited about this one bc I really do love it and I hope you guys love it too.
> 
> Don't have much else to say other than happy reading!

It was a foolish and cowardly thing of him to let the boy go without fulfilling the promise he had made to him so many years ago.

Ned knows this. 

It was weak and cowardly and it pulls at his heart but he can't help it. 

It's for Jon's own good anyway. What good divulging a more than twenty year old secret will do now when they're all reeling from war, and in the midst of preparing for another?

What good will that do?

And, Ned knows, it is not just for Jon's protection that he's keeping this from him (_ lying _ to him), but it's for another reason as well. 

An entirely selfish reason.

Jon is his son.

Lyanna may have birthed him, but it is Ned who has raised him. 

It is Ned who sat the boy on his lap underneath the Heart Tree and told him of the Gods whom they worship.

It is Ned who found Jon hiding underneath his desk in his solar because he was tired of the Greyjoy boy making fun of his status and thus retreated to the one place he felt safe.

It is Ned who sat with him and watched in amusement as Jon tried to stick a wooden wolf into his mouth when he was but a few months old because his gums ached and he was in the process of teething.

It is Ned who watched as he said his first words, took his first steps, held up a sword for the first time, watched his face grow into that soft, delicate beauty that was so very _ Valyrian _ but so very _ Lyanna _.

_ Ned _ did that. 

Jon is _ his _.

And it's wrong and selfish, and he's caused all of this mess and he has more than a good idea of how Jon feels, having never known his mother but he can't help it.

The moment Lyanna placed that baby in his arms (and it had startled him how very _ quiet _ Jon was, not even a sound) he'd taken one look at him and had known that there wasn't anything in the world he wouldn't have done for him. His honor and reputation (even his marriage at the time), meant nothing to him if it meant that Jon would grow up safe and unharmed.

The moment he sits Jon down, and tells him the truth, this horrid truth he's entrusted to only two people, one of whom is dead, he stands to lose all of that.

Ned is _ terrified. _

He is terrified that when Jon, when his beautiful boy (not a boy any longer) learns the lie he's been made to live all these years, that he'll look upon him with nothing but resentment. 

And he'll be right to. 

Oh yes Ned would do it all again, over and over without question and he thinks that Jon will understand at least in part the _ why _ but even so . . .

Oh what a mess he's made of things. 

Ned marks the page of the tome, and places two fingers to his temple. It serves no purpose trying to understand the words sprawled across the worn pages when his mind is in such a state of unrest.

Mayhap a walk will do him well.

* * *

Ned narrowly misses Sansa on his way to the Godswood. 

His daughter's gait is steady but something about her seems . . . _ off. _

And from the direction, he can see that she was coming from the Great Hall. 

Ah yes, Robb was dealing with petitions today, he remembers. Catelyn opted to stay with him. 

Ned had opted out, deciding he'd go to the library and consult the various books about The Others. 

It still baffles him that the stories he'd grown up on, stories his own _ children _ grew up on, are real. They are real and his son's seen them. His son's _ fought _ them.

One would think after having his head chopped off and then opening his eyes years later that this wouldn't surprise him.

"Sansa?"

She freezes, then drops into a curtsey. "Father."

Ned frowns. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes, everything's fine."

He merely looks at her. Sansa was always so terribly easy to read. She's gotten exceedingly well at hiding herself now but she doesn't honestly expect him to believe _ that _, does she?

"Robb just had a little dispute with the Free Folk, that's all."

"I see." 

He wants to ask her where she's headed now but reminds himself that she's not a child, and that she's been roaming the castle as she pleases without the need for his permission or guidance in the months before his return.

"Are _ you _ alright, Father?"

He smiles softly. "I was going to the Godswood. You are welcome to join me."

She looks taken aback. "Join you? You want me to accompany you?"

Her surprise confuses him then it shames him. He'd stopped asking her to accompany him to the Godswood when it became apparent that she preferred her mother's gods. He'd not wished to offend her by making her feel as if she _ had _ to come with him. But perhaps that had been an oversight and that in no longer asking her, he'd made her feel as if she was no longer wanted there.

He remembers that he'd never hesitated to ask Arya. Or the boys.

Ned knows that he's made mistakes. And seeing the surprise and flash of hope in his daughter's eyes, he thinks his gravest mistake was not being as attentive to Sansa as he should've been. 

In neglecting her, she'd sought protection elsewhere. And they were not as kind to her. He hates that she'd been taught that the world was not as good or kind as she was. And he hates it even more that she'd had to learn such lessons the way she did. 

He should've done more, said more, helped her more. He only wished to shelter her. Preserve her innocence.

How wrong he was. 

But he's here now. He can do better _ now _. 

He inclines his head and holds out his arm. Hers curl around his, and Ned smiles when her posture seems to relax. They are of a height. 

It strikes him again how _ grown _ she is. She's transformed into such a stately, _ beautiful _, woman.

_ So very much like her mother. _

On their way there, Sansa tells him about the work she's having the servants do. Repairs are still ongoing due to the damage done by both Greyjoy _ and _Bolton. 

He listens attentively, glad to hear her voice. Her intelligence strikes him and he's shamed once again that he'd never thought that she'd know just what particular material was needed for what, or which House had an abundance in what stock. He should not be surprised, he knows, because Cat is just the same. 

And Sansa had been groomed since girlhood on how to manage a keep, and she'd been well versed in the members of the Great Houses.

She talks all the way to the Godswood, but when they arrive, her voice tapers off into silence. Ned doesn't blame her. 

They walk slowly to the Heart Tree and he inhales the crisp, wintry air. 

He's only been here a few times since his return to the land of the living. Not nearly enough as he'd liked. 

He still doesn't know the purpose for which he, Cat and Robb have returned for and it unsettles him. If it were up to him, he'd stay on his knees in prayer to his gods until he received an answer - _ he'd only ever did that twice in his life; once to bargain for Jon's life when the pox had nearly taken him, and again when Arya's birth had nearly taken Cat's _ \- but that could not be.

"Are you to be at prayer, Father?"

Ned smiles - they come to him quickly he realizes, whenever she says or does something, or when she does nothing at all - and sits on the bark. He pats the space next to him, inviting her. 

She sits across from him and he hides his disappointment.

"Do you pray still, my love?"

"Sometimes. Not nearly as much as I used to."

Her hands clasp together on her lap and upon looking closer he realizes she fiddles with a silver point. It's connected to the long chain he almost always sees her with. He wonders at its significance.

"Oh?"

She gives him somewhat of an indulgent smile. "I'd say the Gods have abandoned me but that's not true, is it? They brought you and Mother and Robb back. They brought Jon back. But they haven't been on my side either."

He wants to say something, to apologize for leaving her alone in King's Landing, for betrothing her to Joffrey, for accepting to be Hand, for _ all of it _.

He never gets the chance to, however.

"I do sometimes like to come out here and just sit and listen to the leaves rustle. Jon would join me when he was finished with his tasks. We could not stay here long but," she doesn't finish her sentence and he wonders why. 

"Jon prays. Almost every day. I think coming back has strengthened his faith."

"You and him are close."

It is strange to him. Sansa's face, which was so calm and placid, came alive at the mention of her half-brother. _ They're cousins, _a soft voice reminds him.

He is glad and happy that his children have seemed to put the past friction behind them and move forward. 

"He kept me safe. I've never been safe. Not until I saw Jon again. I knew he wouldn't let anything happen to me."

_ That's because I raised him right _.

He can see the night he'd taken the boys to meet their new sister so clear and vivid in his mind's eye. Jon and Robb, both on the cusp of four years and adorably attached at the hip, standing there over the crib of the sleeping baby. 

Robb had complained that she didn't do anything and but was excited at the sight of her red hair because she looked so much like him. He was prattling on and on while Jon had simply stood there staring at her. 

Jon had looked at her in equal parts fascination and confusion. 

_ "This is your sister. Her name is Sansa. She is your younger sister and you must always look out for her and protect her. Do you understand me, boys?" _

Robb had nodded excitedly, but Jon was more solemn. It hadn't surprised Ned in the slightest. Jon had been solemn from since birth. 

Before ushering them from the nursery, Robb had stuck his head into the crib and kissed his sister on the brow. Jon had opted to simply touch her hand but Ned heard him utter a very soft, "_ Goodnight Sansa _."

"I'm glad you two had each other."

"We don't always agree, or see eye-to-eye though. He's so _ stubborn _ sometimes. And so very grumpy, Father! And very overdramatic."

Ned raises an eyebrow in amusement. In the time he's gotten to know his daughter again since coming back, he's never seen such a heated expression on her face. It reminds him of her childhood days where she'd grow so annoyed at her younger sister and huff and puff till her face turned as red as her hair. 

She would never let herself lose composure like this, he's certain. It seems that Jon brings this out in her. Or perhaps it's leftover annoyance at whatever's happened in the Great Hall.

"Hmm."

Ned tries to hide his smile. 

"But you two work things out, don't you?"

"I suppose that we do. Do you think the Old Gods will keep him safe? I've prayed and asked but I don't think they'll listen to me."

Ned swallows thickly as he thinks of Jon in the South. He may have taken a small contingent of Stark men with him, and his own advisor Davos, but still Ned worries.

It's the _ South _.

And he worries also for Arya and Bran. His children are out there somewhere and he has no idea where or what or _ how . . . _

But Sansa doesn't need to hear that. She's asking for reassurance. And this is what Ned can give her.

"He'll be alright, my love."

_ He has to be _.

* * *

After Sansa returns to her duties, and Ned to his, after a very quiet dinner in the Hall with his family, a dinner that comprises of Robb and Sansa barely speaking a word to each other apart from the generic 'How was your day today, Your Grace?' - another thing that Ned notices, Sansa refusing to call her brother by his name, something that very clearly incenses his son and has Cat taking several deep breaths at his side - Ned retires to his chambers for bed.

As he's loosening the ties to his sleep tunic, he feels the soft fingertips at his back.

Then he feels her lips on his neck. 

A deep groan rumbles from within his chest. _ Yes _.

He's missed this. 

He looks down and sees Cat's dainty but scarred hands go to the ties of his breeches. They're barely unfastened before he feels her warm hand wrap around his cock. 

His head tips back and her teeth sink into his neck. 

Her strokes are quick and hard and almost _ angry _.

Ned immediately knows what sort of night it's going to be. 

"Take me to bed, my lord," she purrs, near on _ whimpers _.

Ned need only turn his head before his mouth covers his wife's in a deep kiss that is almost feral. 

He lets her hands work him while he ravages her mouth. When he pulls away, her Tully eyes are dilated and her lips are swollen from his kiss. Her rich red hair, that is streaked with only a mere touch of grey, falls down to her waist and he notes that she is naked. 

Removing her hands from his cock, Ned lifts her by the back of her thighs and takes her to bed.

  
  


Later, when they're both trying to catch their breath and his seed is still fresh between his wife's thighs, Cat tells him of the exchange between Sansa and Robb in the Great Hall.

She tells him of how stone cold and emotionless their daughter's face had been. She tells him how sad she is that Sansa won't _ talk _ to her.

Ned tries to reconcile that image with the one he's had of Sansa in the Godswood with him. It is hard but he's not surprised. Simply saddened that she'd had to learn to veil her emotions the way she did. 

And that she'd had to learn it from men like Joffrey, and Bolton, and _ Baelish. _

Watching the rat's head roll across the courtyard, and watching his blood drip down the steel of Jon's sword was one of the sweetest sights Ned had seen since his return.

He can feel the rage begin to bubble within him, a rage he's felt since he opened his eyes again - though if he's being honest, this rage comes every time he thinks about what his children have gone through, especially Sansa - and instead focuses his attention on Cat. She is looking at him heavy-lidded and biting her lip.

It is ungodly that he wants her again even after what they've just discussed and after spending near on more than an hour with his head between her thighs.

It helps though. It helps a great deal.

He's not above admitting that whenever he's angry, he channels that adrenaline into fucking his wife into whatever surface is available. The first few times he was ashamed at his behavior for she was _ his wife _, and a proper lady and deserved better than that, but after a time, she'd admitted that she'd very much enjoyed the times he'd get aggressive.

Ned's not going to feel sorry for such a thing now. He has more sins to be aggrieved by. 

He pulls her on top of him, and she wastes no time sinking onto his length, already hard and waiting for her. 

A deep sigh slips from her lips and his own curl in pride. 

_ His lady _. 

_ His lady Cat _.

"I'll not be gentle," he warns.

"Neither will I."

He takes her then, and then once more for the night. In the early hours of watching her chest rise and fall, her red hair sprawled around her body, Ned can feel his lids begin to close.

  
He only rests for what feels like less than an hour before a horn blows and cries of _ 'Open the Gate _!' rouse him and Cat from their slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah I totally had ned and cat bang at the end bc let's face it, those two fuck like some rabbits. They're almost as bad, if not AS BAD, as jonsa don't @ me.
> 
> And when it comes to Ned & Jon, I feel like we talk about how the news will affect Jon and his perception of Ned and that is absolutely valid but I wanted to talk about how Ned views Jon because Jon is Ned's first son. He knew him before he knew Robb and he loved him before he loved Robb and he's the only parent Jon has known and I believe that that would translate into a very special and deep bond between them.


	4. #Robb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO GUYS
> 
> It's been awhile but I had to take an unexpected break from this fic to get some perspective. Plus I was dreading writing this chapter bc I wanted to really get to the drama™ but that won't come for awhile (curse me and my need to have a plotted out fic lmao)
> 
> But anyway this is it. I'm sorry if it's not as long as the previous one. I wanted to really get this over with bc the one after this is Sansa's pov and I've been waiting to get back to her and especially the next chapter.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this!  
Also hope you all are staying safe!

Her words haven't left his head. It's not so much as the words themselves - though, if he's being honest, it _ is _ the words - but _ how _ she'd said them.

His sister's voice had held no emotion, no inflection . . .

No _ feeling. _

_ "Forgive me, Your Grace. I forgot myself. It won't happen again." _

Robb brings the horn of ale to his lips and knocks it back. 

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He and Sansa weren't supposed to be at odds with one another. He's not even quite certain if they are still, but there is an uneasiness that surrounds his sister whenever she converses with him.

Even before their little spat earlier, it's been there.

Robb imagines that having gone without him so long that she doesn't quite know what to say to him, or how to relate to him.

He'd like to tell her that he understands that. He'd like to tell her that she need not feel strange for feeling that way.

Even though her sarcasm cloaked in politeness at dinner had both annoyed and discomfited him, he'd like to tell her so.

But to do so they have to be able to sit and actually _ talk _ first.

And they've done precious little of that.

After The Return - as he's taken to calling it - him, their parents, Sansa and Jon had only sat together once. On that night they'd talked into the morning and his siblings had updated them on all that had transpired in their absence.

He knows that many of the details have been glossed over and he's fine with that. 

Jon and Sansa had suffered just the same as them. In Jon's case, _ exactly _ the same way as Robb did.

To learn that his brother had been murdered and betrayed by men who were meant to be loyal to him had filled him with a deep, uncontrollable kind of rage. 

It was different from when he'd learnt of Father's death. 

As far as the Realm knew, Ned Stark had committed treason. His execution had been just in the eyes of the law.

Jon's wasn't.

This was something Robb knew intimately and to know that his beloved brother had suffered just the same had saddened him and angered him.

And as for Sansa . . .

She didn't go into detail about what had happened to her but what she did tell him had made him feel sick.

Not only with rage and grief, but also shame. His little sister. His sweet little sister had been hurt and he hadn't been there to stop it from happening.

To know that she'd been forced into marriage not once, but _ twice _ , and into families that had betrayed their House; to know that she'd been trapped in what had been her childhood home, and at the mercy of a _ monster _ . . .

Robb doesn't think he has any words to properly express how that had made him feel. How that _ makes _ him feel.

He takes a swig of ale again and closes his eyes.

It does him no good.

Her face comes to him. Dark hair, brown skin, bright smile. His lovely Talisa. _ His _ Lady Stark.

He can feel the burn gathering in his eyes and the rage bubbling within. 

He can see her how he saw her last and not for the first time he wishes that that wasn't the last picture he saw of her; dead, laying on the marble floors of Riverrun, their son dying within her.

It is a sick sight and one he's cursed to remember for the rest of his days.

Why has he been brought back? What purpose, what aim is there to accomplish with this?

Robb died and the world moved on. His loved ones and his people grieved but they all moved on.

It's not right that he lives while his wife and child don't. What kind of father does that make him?

Nay, what kind of husband?

He couldn't even protect his woman and babe.

Hells, he could not even protect his own _ people _ from the horrors those traitors had wrought on The North.

His only comfort - and he has very few of them now - is that his siblings had succeeded where he had failed.

A small voice in the back of his head tells him that he's not as pleased about that as he claims.

He promptly tells that voice to shut up.

Robb can admit that returning to see Jon in his position as King in The North had been an _ experience _ for him.

He'd been proud, happy, humbled, and all manner of things to see his bastard half-brother in such a high position, the _ highest _ position one could rise to in The North.

If there was anyone he'd have wanted to rule in his absence, it'd be Jon. There is no man in the world whom he trusts more.

That isn't to say however, that it had not been a very strange experience for him.

For as long as Robb can remember Jon has been there. They shared a crib, they shared toys - which in actuality was _ Robb _ sharing his toys with him - they shared lessons, they shared teachers, they shared _ everything _.

They'd been joined at the hip since he'd lain eyes on the baby so completely unlike him in looks.

He'd been protective of his quiet, sullen brother. Where Robb was amiable and cheery, Jon was shy and withdrawn. 

It was only a few years later after meeting his brother that he'd learnt the difference between them. And with that knowledge came a shift.

He's a bit ashamed to admit that even for all his defense of his brother's bastardy, a part of him had been comfortable in having a higher position than him.

It's awful, he knows.

Mayhaps that was the source of his complicated feelings towards seeing Jon as King. He'd had a hard time wrapping his head around it.

Even now as the crown is returned to him, he still can't help but wonder the thoughts that plagued his brother.

Did he feel the weight of all their people on his shoulders? Or did he feel pleased and a bit vindicated that him, a bastard, rose so high?

Robb sucks in a breath and shakes his head. What is _ wrong _ with him? 

That's not Jon. 

To even _ insinuate _ otherwise makes him no better than the people who actually do.

Robb takes a final swig and retires to bed.

* * *

He's woken up early the next morning to a pounding on his door.

"Your Grace!"

His body is on alert instantly. Rolling off the bed, he grabs his sword and throws on his robe. 

Heading to the door, he flings it open to see one of his guards, Dorren.

"What is it? What's happened?"

"At the Northern Gate, Your Grace."

Pushing past him, he speeds down the halls. He can hear the sounds of his men keeping pace with him behind him but pays them no mind.

Are they under attack?

No, Dorren would've said so if they were.

A visitor, then? 

But what visitor would come to them through the Northern Gate? 

The Umbers? 

No. Even if it were them, they'd come through the East Gate. And what purpose would they have for returning to Winterfell so soon when they'd been sent back not a few weeks prior?

As Robb crosses through the gate connecting the Armory to the Guards Hall, he can hear the howling of what sounds to be a wolf.

His heart beats so loud he swears he can feel it in his throat. That howl is familiar. It is similar and yet not the same as Ghost's.

He keeps himself calm and composed as the King he is as he arrives at the Gate.

Mother and Father are crouched over a body laying on what seems to be a stretcher of some sort.

Mother has her arms thrown over the body bundled up in wild furs and she's sobbing.

_ Loudly _.

Robb's hands shake as he comes closer. 

Through the white noise he can faintly register that the guards have not moved forward.

The howling is incredibly loud now. He blinks amidst the flurry of snow and sees Ghost and _ another _ wolf tumbling each other.

The wolf is of a height with Jon's, and is russet brown and white in colour. Ghost is considerably bigger, though.

Robb takes a deep breath and looks at Father who has tears in his eyes, then back at Mother.

He then _ finally _ looks at the body she's wrapped herself around.

He remembers this. This scene is grotesquely familiar to him. It's different and yet very much the same.

His dark red locks frame his face, and he's much older than he saw him last. A man now, Robb thinks.

His eyes are closed and he's _ so _ pale.

He drops to his knees beside his parents and touches his face. He's ice cold.

"Bran."

His voice wobbles and his throat feels thick. He can barely get his words out, he's breathing so hard.

"Oh gods, _Bran_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah Bran's back. Unlike s7, we are actually dragging out the returns and reunions bc traveling so fucking long through harsh temperatures and with little food and drink is going to fuck up his health. So yeah, just like how in S1 we had to wait a while for our boy to wake up, we have to do the same here. Sorry not sorry lol.


	5. #Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh so hi everyone! Lovely to see you all again. As you might realize by now this fic gets updated sporadically, and a lot of the time with months in between lol. Can't help it. 
> 
> Especially can't help it this time with the state of the world. Last time I updated this story was May 25 and that was the day George Floyd was brutally murdered. I hadn't learned of it until the next morning. First thing I saw when I woke up the next day was yet another video of a man with the same skin colour as me being killed for the fucking world to see. (Y'all are here for the fic but you can't have my art without me saying what I got to say so just deal with it.) Naturally fandom and fic took a back burner to that bc it seemed like people were finally waking up and listening to what we've been saying for so long. 
> 
> If you follow me on Tumblr you know that I say what I have to say and I don't coddle people's feelings bc that shit is tired. To all the people protesting, keep on and stay safe (I can't because Im not from America but know that my soul is with you) and to those who somehow manage take offense to this message get gone you'll not be missed. I can't help you with that lmao.
> 
> So yeah, the racial climate of the world hit me really hard and mentally exhausted me. Also my anxiety got so bad that I honestly couldn't deal with it anymore and so I took a break from Tumblr. I got panic attacks and headaches and body pains and it was overall unpleasant. 
> 
> Things got better and then BAM I got Covid. I'm recovered now (got discharged from quarantine today and the doctors cleared me) but yeah the past few months have been just wacky and to celebrate me surviving that I'm back at my favourite fic ready to give you guys the latest chapter.
> 
> This one is in Sansa's pov and I've been looking forward to this one especially for awhile now. This is for Nikki, Howie and Alzerak who've been waiting for it for so long. It's also for my lovely Maddie who's been so fucking supportive through everything and who always checks up on me and who's helped me brainstorm. I love all of you and I love my Jonsa fam and I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> as always, fuck d&d, kit and jon deserved better, acab and black lives matter.
> 
> Peace.

Sansa wakes to the sound of commotion. Her maids are whispering not so softly as they pour into her chambers.

She bites back a feeling of irritation at being woken up to such chatter.

For once she was having a good dream.

She lifts her head and gives a soft groan. It's unladylike but she doesn't have the energy to care.

"Milady!"

"Good Morrow to you too Lara."

Her handmaiden comes around to her side of the bed and offers her hand. Sansa takes it as she is helped out of her bed.

Deina, her other handmaiden comes over and slips her robe onto her. Sansa thanks her with a soft smile that feels more like a grimace.

She takes a seat at her vanity and starts brushing the tangles out of her hair. Lara takes the brush from her as Deina helps the other maids at the tub.

Something about their movements is strange. There seems to be a sense of urgency to it, and so Sansa asks about it.

Deina's eyes are wide when she tells her, "Your brother has returned, milady."

Sansa can feel her heart begin to slam against her chest. 

Jon's back.

He's returned. He's safe. And he wasn't gone long. Gods, she needs to see him. She'll need to talk to him about how many men he brought and what's their next step and gods, she'll need to tell her parents everything and-

"My brother," she says flatly, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice.

"The guards found him at the Northern Gate. Was laying on a wagon. Seemed like a girl carried him all the way here. They were both dressed in wildling furs from what I hear. Poor girl looked like she was about to faint and your brother-"

"Deina," Lara says sharply.

Sansa blinks slowly, trying to process what she's just heard.

Northern Gate . . . Was dragged to Winterfell by a girl . . . He was laying on a wagon . . .

"Oh milady, forgive me. Only meant to say that your brother is no doubt going to be just fine. The Lord and Lady Stark and His Grace found him and brought him into the Keep. Master Wolkan is seeing to him as we speak. They'd sent for you which is why we're here so early. Didn't want you to not know that Lord Brandon returned to you."

Lord Brandon.

_Bran_.

Sansa keeps the tears at bay. She won't cry in front of them.

She also pushes down the feeling of disappointment that she gets at learning that it's not Jon. 

What did she expect anyway? He's only been gone three weeks. It's unrealistic of her to imagine that he'd be completed with his quest so quickly.

"Is the bath ready?" Her voice sounds detached. Makes sense seeing as she feels disconnected from what's happening right now.

Deina blinks as if the question confuses her. Sansa merely raises an eyebrow, her patience starting to wane.

"Oh, yes milady." 

"Very well. You may all leave now."

"Do you not need any help dressing after, Lady Sansa?" another maid, Ephelm, asks.

"I will manage just fine, thank you. Please leave."

They all bow and leave her.

Sansa's hands fumble with the clasp of her robe, and then the hem of her nightrail. The shift is even more difficult to remove afterwards.

It's only when she clambers to the tub that she realizes that she's shaking. She grips the lip of it tightly to regain balance.

Taking a deep breath, she slips into the water and gives a momentary wince at the pulling of tender skin.

Only when she's had her head reclined on the back of the tub does she taste the salt on her lips and understand that she's crying.

_Bran_.

He's _alive_. He's alive and with their parents and brother, the maids said. He's alive when a big part of her had resigned to him being dead.

He's alive while Rickon isn't.

Sansa chokes out a gasp, feeling her chest tighten. Gods, she doesn't want to cry like this. Her little brother is alive, she should be happy.

She should be moving efficiently so as to go see him. 

And yet, all she can think about is how surreal it all is. How impossible she feels it is. A soft laugh escapes her then. Four members of her family rose from the dead and _this_ is what she deems impossible.

She takes the washcloth and begins to scrub her skin as she thinks about the last time she'd seen Bran. He'd been ten, if she remembered correctly - and oh how terrible is she for that? she can barely remember her brother's own age, seven help her - and a sweet, lovable little boy at that. 

He'd had a smile that lit up whatever room he walked in.

He'll be a man grown now, won't he? Just as Arya would be a woman grown. 

He'd be tall as well, Sansa imagines. If he could stand, he'd be taller than Jon for certain. 

Jon would be happy to see Bran. It stings knowing he's not here for this. And she feels a bit of guilt too. Sansa knows it's ridiculous and she thinks that Jon won't hold it against her but she still can't help but feel like she's done wrong by being here and him being . . . wherever he was at the moment.

But that isn't her fault though, is it? He chose to leave. He chose to go off on this mission alone and not tell anyone but her the particulars of it. Oh, she hopes that he's told Davos at least. It wouldn't bode well for him to concoct this masterplan and not tell his advisor who's making the trip with him.

She hopes that he listens to Davos too and takes his counsel well. She hopes that the Onion Knight will be better received with Jon than she is with Robb, Southerner he may be.

Sansa had known that Jon abdicating to Robb would have put her back into a position of being seen and not heard. Well, she had surmised as such in theory. But to have her brother so blatantly dismiss her like that - after she _diffused_ the situation no less - stung and stung _bad_.

Jon would've never done that to her. 

_Are you certain about that?_

Sansa nods, then realizes that she's physically answering herself and her cheeks feel warm. It's the truth though. He may have gotten tense with her in the Great Hall the day he'd pardoned Alys Karstark and Ned Umber, and while that did hurt, he's never done so to her again after that.

She'd spoken to him about it, he'd listened and all was well with them. Gods, he'd even gotten the cooks to make her lemon cakes to surprise her, he was feeling so contrite.

She misses him so much. She hadn't expected to, the way she does. But she _does_. Supper, which they usually took in either one of their private solars, is now held in the Great Hall with her family and it's awkward. 

She didn't have that with Jon. They'd be quiet yes, but it was a silence that was comforting. 

After they ate, they'd usually play a game just to ease each other's minds from the tasks of the day. Sansa had been teaching him to play cyvasse (and he was good at it, she realized, Jon learnt fast), at the same time explaining to him all the intricacies of Southern politics that she'd learnt down there.

Jon had frowned - rather adorably she might add, there was something boyish about the way he'd wrinkle his nose when something displeased him - and had asked for what need he'd have of learning such.

She hopes he remembers her lessons now.

She hopes even more that he'd just _come home_. 

It's for her own selfish gain, she knows. Jon is the only one with whom she feels completely safe with. Her Father is here and she doesn't doubt that he'd never harm her but she can't let herself go with him. 

Their talk in the Godswood the day before helped but it's going to take a lot more than that to undo all the mixed emotions she has towards him. Not to mention the guilt that threatens to choke her whenever she looks at him.

And as for Mother and Robb . . . 

She doesn't know how to act around them. Robb still fancies her his little sister, and Mother always looks at her with an expression of pity mixed with something else Sansa can't decipher.

It's unnerving and it makes her feel uncomfortable. She hates that she feels that way around her family. 

Which makes her want Jon. She doesn't want to feel so needy for him but she does and she can't help it. It's his own fault too for treating her so well while he was here. 

Always respectful, a little too moody for her liking, but could make her laugh and feel safe to say what she felt. He might not always do what she liked but he always listened.

She thinks back to that day on the battlements when he'd kissed her forehead. He's done so a few times since, mostly before she left for bed.

It was nice, his affection. She liked hugging him too because he gave the best hugs. His arms would wrap around her entire body and she'd feel warm and safe. 

A chill sweeps over her body and Sansa finds it odd because the maids had shut the windows before they left. 

To be fair, she _has_ been sitting in the water for quite a while and her family is waiting. Sansa takes a deep breath, submerges her body below the water, then steps out of the tub.

She takes a little while to get dressed, lacing up the soft green gown the maids had laid out on her bed. She slips on her gloves and cloak and is out the door. 

* * *

Father and Robb are preoccupied with a girl bundled in furs akin to that of The Free Folk, and Mother is interrogating Maester Wolkan. Brienne remarks that she'll remain outside but her words bleed to white noise as Sansa's eyes fall on Bran.

_Bran_.

She moves closer to his bed and her throat tightens. He looks . . . Gods, he looks _dead_. He looks as he did after his fall. The only comfort that she gets is the sight of the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Her family hasn't seemed to make note of her presence and that's just as well, she finds. 

His hair's long and the red locks fall over his face. He'll need a haircut. Sansa touches his jaw and feels the bristle. Oh, he's growing a beard! Her suspicions were correct. 

Her little brother is now a man. Oh, how handsome he looks. She'd like for him to wake up so she can tell him so. So she can hug him and shower his face in kisses and watch him wrinkle his nose for babying him.

She strokes his forehead. He's so cold and so pale. Jon had told her that Bran had possibly gone Beyond the Wall but he wasn't certain. Well, it's the only explanation isn't it?

A wet nose nudges her hand and Sansa startles. Her cry of surprise alerts the other members of the room that she's there.

"Sansa," Robb says softly, crossing to her side. His hand rests on her lower back and she's momentarily confused at that. Just last night he was looking at her as if she annoyed him - and she supposed that she had, but he'd started it anyway and what did he really expect when he treated her the way she had? she's not a _child_ for the gods' sake - but it seems as if their brother's reappearance has stripped all unnecessary animosity between them.

But her attention is still taken by the wet nose that's nudging her hand. Nudging her hand very much away from Bran. Sansa smiles softly and slowly runs her fingers through the brown and russet fur. Golden eyes peer at her curiously.

"Hello Summer."

The direwolf mewls as if she's deemed Sansa to be no threat then returns to sprawling over her master. She's gotten so big. 

Sansa wonders if Lady would've been that size had she lived.

Mother and Father move to the head of Bran's bed. Maester Wolkan seems to have left.

Catelyn's eyes are red and wet. Sansa can't begin to imagine how this must be for her. She'd had to endure this once before. A second time just seems cruel to Sansa.

The strange girl stands near Bran's feet at the edge of the bed and she's wringing her hands together. 

Her eyes are locked on Bran and she looks as worried as they are.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," Sansa addresses her.

The girl blinks then stumbles into a curtsey. "Forgive me, Your Grace. I'm Meera Reed from Greywater Watch. I've been Lord Brandon's companion."

Sansa is taken aback at being called that. Though she supposes that the girl would assume she'd have a title. What with Robb being King.

"You're Howland's daughter?" 

"Yes, my lord. I am. My father had sent my brother and I to look after Lord Brandon and Lord Rickon when Winterfell was attacked. To keep them safe."

"You didn't say anything of this when we were talking to you," Robb intones.

"You didn't ask, Your Grace."

"Thank you. For keeping my brother safe. You and your brother. Where is he so that we may thank him also?"

Meera bows her head and Sansa knows the answer before she opens her mouth.

"He's dead, my lady. We were attacked."

"I'm sorry."

The words are empty but they're all she can offer. Sansa looks to her parents as she asks after Bran. "How is he like this? How did this happen?"

"They were attacked by wights-" Father's tone of voice says that he can barely believe what he's saying, "and Bran was hurt. Benjen saved them and got past the Wall."

"Uncle Benjen?" 

Gods, Jon would be so happy to hear this.

"Yes, Uncle Benjen. The Night's Watch Brothers dressed his wounds. As soon as they found out he was Jon's brother they didn't waste time. The Lord Commander personally saw to it, apparently."

Edd, then. The corner of Sansa's lips tugged up. The man's loyalty saved Bran's life. 

"I carried him the rest of the way here," Meera says softly. 

Sansa blinks. "By _yourself_?"

"I couldn't leave him, Your Grace. I couldn't."

The raw emotion in Meera's voice has Sansa look back and forth between the girl and her unconscious brother. Looking at her parents, it seems as if she's not the only one to notice it as well.

Oh. 

_Oh_.

How adorable. It makes sense, she supposes. They've spent years together, of course feelings would develop. 

"I'll have the maids prepare a bath and a room for you. And food as well. You must be tired and hungry."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Meera sounds humbled. Sansa waves a hand dismissively. "Please, call me Sansa. We're to be family now, aren't we?"

The girl's eyes are wide and Sansa sees her mother give a small smile. Ned lays a hand on her shoulder.

"Your father and I are old friends. You are more than welcome here. Especially after all that you've done for my son."

"I only wish that I could've done more. He's been like this since we left Castle Black."

No wonder Mother looks the way she does. It takes weeks to travel from Winterfell to the Wall. Even longer when you're on foot and carrying someone else.

Bran's been unconscious longer than he'd been after his fall.

_Gods_.

* * *

The subsequent days are . . . interesting to say the least. Robb informs their people of Bran's return, and they all rejoice. They welcome Lady Meera into their court and she's well received.

The people hail her as a hero and Sansa doesn't doubt that a song detailing how she single handedly battled the cold, wintry storms to safely return Lord Brandon to his ancestral home will be made of it.

Meera doesn't care about that, though. Her focus is all on Bran. She visits him everyday, talks to him and reads to him and touches his face in a way that she's seen Father do with Mother.

It's sweet and fills Sansa's heart with joy. Her little brother has found himself someone to love and while the prospect of marriage and weddings are things she doesn't want to have to think about for the foreseeable future, she won't mind putting together this one.

She highly doubts that their parents will disprove. Father and Howland Reed are good friends - he never talks of him though so Sansa wonders how good of a friend he can be, and he and Robert were good friends as well and look how _that_ had turned out but she digresses - and she's certain that he'll be happy about joining their families.

Mother will be happy, at least she thinks she will, about someone loving Bran for him. Sansa knows that Mother would've had the thought at some point about Bran's prospects. Meera is highborn, and from a respected House. She's kind, formidable (she'd have to be, protecting Bran from the horrors that they'd seen Beyond the Wall - horrors they've yet to fully talk about) and absolutely _adores_ Bran.

Sansa doesn't think there'll be any objection. 

Meera's addition to their household has also been influential in striking home that the White Walkers, The Night King and the Army of the Dead are in fact, _real_.

Sansa knew that their people were skeptical of Jon's warnings, thinking him a strange man. A _mad_ man. 

Their doubt in him had lessened after seeing Mother, Father and Robb again but Northerners are stubborn. 

Meera spends her days with Father in the library and they consult the books on everything about the Others they can find. 

Sansa is glad for that. Jon would be happy to see their people taking things seriously. 

She's taken over Mother's duties for Mother spends her days with Bran. Sansa doesn't begrudge her that, and she's quite happy to have something to do anyway. Being Lady of Winterfell again, even if only for a short time is refreshing. 

House Manderly has sent a raven informing them that he and his entourage will be making the trek to Winterfell in the coming fortnight.

Wyman had left Winterfell before her parents returned and had only learnt of it through a personally delivered scroll. It's obvious that the man will want to come see for himself. And it doesn't take a genius to figure out why he's bringing his daughters.

Sansa is just finished drafting their acceptance. This one she'll sign herself.

Communication through the North has been . . . different, in a manner of speaking. The South still believes that Jon is King and that she and him are the only Starks here. 

For Jon's plan to work, they must continue to act like it. The Northerners themselves aren't keen on expressing the return of her family either. What happened at the Red Wedding still haunts them and they fear a replay of that.

That's perfectly fine as far as she's concerned. They're working within her favor. Their ignorance is just what they need.

A wet nose bumps her cheek and she shies away with a laugh. Crimson eyes peer at her at intently and she scratches Ghost behind the ear.

He's become somewhat of her shadow, the wolf. It helps that sitting on his haunches he's her height. His size intimidates others and it's comforting. 

He licks at her cheek and Sansa wrinkles her nose in mock disgust. "I'm working, boy. I can't play with you now."

He does something that sounds a bit like a whine and continues to stare at her. His behaviour reminds her of a little child. 

He nudges her again and this time his eyes seem to say "It's time to stop."

Sansa glances at the window and realizes that it's quite late. Oh.

"Good boy. Checking up on me."

She gives him the leftover piece of bread. It's been dipped in the last bit of lamb stew. She'd taken her supper alone because she'd wanted to get work finished. 

Ghost nibbles on it as Sansa begins packing away the scrolls. She places them into the desk drawer then locks it. She's fixing the key into the bodice of her dress just as Ghost has finished. 

"Come on, boy."

Sansa rubs the oil into her shoulders and frowns at the still pink scar. There isn't anything she can do about it really but she wishes she didn't have to be confronted with the evidence of what happened to her everytime she looks at herself.

As she rubs the oil into the other parts of her body, she begins to feel the fatigue and exhaustion kick in. 

Gods, she's tired. 

Ghost has made himself comfortable in front of the fire, a little in front of her bed.

She leans down to work the oil into the skin of her calves and winces at the strain on her hip. Ghost lifts his head and she shushes him. 

She manages to get the oil into her legs and as soon as she's done, she heads to the basin to wash her hands.

By then she's gotten quite sleepy and she musters up just enough energy to blow out the candles and bid Ghost goodnight.

Her eyes close as soon as she hits the bed.

* * *

. . . And open to Jon laying right beside her.

At first she doesn't understand what's happening, and then her body shoots up. He's on his side, head propped on his right arm, and the sheets are pooled at his waist. 

Sansa's cheeks feel hot at seeing the shadows of dark hair beneath his tunic. His hair's loose and the curls frame his face in a way that's quite becoming. 

She's obviously still out of it. She's not making any sort of sense. What she should be doing is waking Jon and asking him what the hell he's doing in her bed but instead she's admiring him -- he looks so peaceful like this, though and it reminds her of their nights traversing the North. He'd never kept her far from him and so she'd go to sleep with the sight of him in repose close by but there's a difference between having to sleep together out of necessity and . . . whatever it is that's happening and seven _hells_ she needs to wake him up.

Sansa glances at the window. The morning rays filter into the chambers, casting them in a warm glow.

Her lips part, ready to tell him to get up and explain, but then they part for a completely different reason as Jon's eyelashes flutter - they're quite long for a man, and isn't that just a bit unfair - and he wakes on his own.

"Good morning," he says to her, his voice groggy. It would be considered attractive to those inclined to view it as such. 

Sansa admits that she sits there gaping at him like a fish. _Good morning? He's in my bed as if that's perfectly normal and instead of giving me an explanation he's greeting me?_

"Sansa," his hand brushes her cheek. She shivers. Oh, it must be the draft. The fire's gone out. "Are you alright?"

"What?" She asks dumbly.

"I asked if you were alright."

"Jon, wh-what are you, what are you doing in my room?"

His eyebrows furrow in confusion. He tilts his head to the side. It makes him look like a cat. A very pretty cat but a cat all the same.

"What do you mean?"

"You're in my bed. What are you doing in my bed?" Her voice trembles a bit and Jon picks up on that. He drops his hand and sits up.

"Sansa, you were screaming in your sleep last night. I came to check on you and you asked me to stay with you."

Her eyes get wide. Jon's eyes flit over her face. "You don't remember?"

She shakes her head. 

"You had a night terror."

As he continues, explaining everything the night prior, the details of her nightmare start coming back. It was about him. 

"It was about you." Her words feel like knives in her throat. Gods, the terror begins to claw at her chest.

"What?"

"My dream," her eyes meet his. "It was about you." Jon swallows thickly and looks pained.

"Whatever I did, it was a dream. I would never hurt you, Sansa. You have to know that."

She only looks at him in confusion. It dawns on her that he thought she dreamt that he-

"_Gods_, Jon. No. No, it wasn't anything like that."

"Good, because I would _never_\- Sansa if I ever do _anything_ to-"

"Shh. Stop," she says softly. She looks at him because he needs to see her eyes. "I know."

Jon presses his lips together and nods. 

"What did you dream, then? If you don't want to tell me you don't have to, it's-"

"It's alright." She shuffles closer to him, and he takes the invitation and lets her lean against his body.

"I dreamt that you were held hostage in the South and everything that happened to me, happened to you. And that you were powerless the way I was. And at the mercy of a blonde queen."

Jon is silent. Sansa lolls her head against his neck, listening to his steady pulse. He's here with her. He's safe with her. To her horror and embarrassment, tears burn her eyes. She stubbornly hides her face in his neck.

"Hey," he curls a finger under her chin. "Hey, Sansa, look at me."

Jon wipes away her tears and Sansa blushes. She hates being so emotional with him. It makes her feel exposed but she surmises that she'd been much worse last night. And Jon had stayed. She doesn't have anything to be embarrassed about.

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"You don't know that," she sniffles. Jon smiles in a bit of amusement. 

"No, I don't. But if I'm gone, who'll be here to annoy you as you say I do? I have to be around to have you order me about."

Sansa huffs and pushes at his shoulder. "You're not nearly as funny as you think you are."

Jon cups her cheek and he looks at her in what she realizes is asking for permission. She nods slowly and he kisses her hair.

"I'm here. Alright?"

"Alright."

She tucks herself into his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. She vaguely registers his arms wrapping around her as she's lulled back to sleep.

* * *

Sansa wakes up alone.

Her hand reaches to the side of her bed. No Jon. He's not there.

At once, reality crashes down on here and she blinks back tears. 

A dream.

It was just a fucking _dream_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof yeah this took long.
> 
> So we're starting to see the little seeds planted for Jonsa. Im hurting myself by attempting to do a relatively slow burn lol. Idk if it's working.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed it and don't hesitate to come say hi on Tumblr. Also please stay safe and make sure to wear your masks and everything. I was lucky to get a really mild case but even that mild case fucked me the entire hell up. 
> 
> Love you all.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out @jonskory.tumblr.com


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